Something Borrowed, Something Blue

I was at one of the longest awaited weddings at my church today, at the Melbourne jail no less! (Love is a word and marriage is a sentence. A life sentence.)

In the midst of the revelry, I got to talking with one of the old stalwarts of our church, a Caucasian gentleman in his seventies:

'You know, I never got married myself. No girl would have wanted a bloke like me. Not with a job like mine! I was working for Ford, you see. I was driving 200 kilometres for work every week,' his face scrunches up ' and when I got back, she would want to go out for a drive.'

'Where's the sense in that? And I was too busy playing music on the weekends. Nope, no girl would have wanted a bloke like me.'

'And I tell you one more thing, there wasn't a girl I felt that I could have lived without. I mean, I've seen many women come and go, and there hasn't been one which I've seen and thought that I couldn't do without her.'

'And so here I am, you know. By myself, at seventy. I mean, even a married man would be in the position I'm in if his wife had passed away first. At least I've got good friends still...'

His voice trails off, as the both of us watch the purple ribbons streaming from the white poppy trees, dancing in the wind. The howling wind carries the laughter of children from a distance. I bite my lower lip and think about what he has just said, both of us alone in a crowd of people.